


Three Men In One Day!

by Ashling



Category: Blue Castle - L. M. Montgomery
Genre: (emotionally anyways), Alternate Universe, Angst, Background Appearances of Valancy Stirling's Family, F/M, Fist Fights, Happy Ending, If A Fight Ends In A Knockout The Winner Can Take Your Spouse, It's a happy cliffhanger ending okay, It's a weird AU but just trust me, Role Reversal
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-01
Updated: 2020-08-01
Packaged: 2021-03-04 18:28:21
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,453
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25470892
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ashling/pseuds/Ashling
Summary: Well, Valancy thought, that was a proposal, no two ways about it.
Relationships: Barney Snaith/Valancy Stirling
Comments: 38
Kudos: 56
Collections: Just Married Exchange 2020





	Three Men In One Day!

**Author's Note:**

  * For [wafflelate](https://archiveofourown.org/users/wafflelate/gifts).



The worst thing about Cissy’s funeral was Roaring Abel’s sobriety. The showy piousness and false sympathy of her kin and their ilk was familiar enough, but Roaring Abel's grief was new and heartbreaking. It wasn’t that Valancy liked it when he was drunk; she could happily go the rest of her life without ever hearing another of his ribald songs. But his eyes at his daughter’s funeral were enough to make her miss them. They would have given him a shred of false joviality with which to cover up the raw horror. _This is the rest of my life,_ his eyes seemed to say. _This is it._

Valancy knew something of the feeling. She had gotten a letter from the doctor. He was very apologetic; he’d made a terrible mistake. She had not yet written him a reply, ostensibly because she was too busy arranging Cissy’s funeral, but really because every time she sat down to write, she was seized by unreasonable anger. She hated the thought of dying, but she couldn’t enjoy her reprieve as much as she ought to when she thought of the sore grey decades stretching out in front of her: the miserable dinners with her mother and Cousin Stickles, and the miserable cold, and the miserable room with the miserable puppy sitting in the miserable rain in the miserable little framed picture on the wall. It made her more thankful than ever that she had never shown her letter to anyone. 

Valancy was so concentrated on her own thoughts that she missed the first marriage proposal of her life. She was startled out of it when, somewhere by her left side, she heard Cousin Stickles give a most un-Cousin-Stickles-like yelp, and suddenly there was a weight on her left arm where Mother was hanging on. Mother’s mouth was hanging open. Valancy blinked, frowned, and realized that while she had been murmuring the occasional _mm-hm_ to various people who had been coming by to share their sympathetic nothings with her, at least one of those people had had something to say. The man in front of her was a banker, she knew that much, very respectable, with several children. He was also clearly in possession of a pocket watch, an expansive waistline, fair hair, and a friendly smile. But she couldn’t remember his name.

“I say,” he repeated, with some concern and considerable patience, “Might you want to go on a walk with me sometime down Lover’s Lane?”

Well, Valancy thought, that was a proposal, no two ways about it. You didn’t walk down Lover’s Lane with a woman unless you intended to offer her a ring, or already had. 

Valancy was very tired from all the funeral preparations, taking care of Cissy’s body, and getting the house ready so that Abel would be all right in the gap between herself and the next housekeeper. She had made two loaves of bread and several pies, a fact that she very nearly said out loud, as if it were a polite excuse: _I can’t walk with you, I’ve made too many pies_.

“Valancy!” Scolding and entreating all at once, that was of course Mother, who had by now shut her mouth and opened her eyes wide open in a most unattractive stare. Perhaps she thought she could hypnotize Valancy into it, like a snake. 

It was that look from Mother that decided Valancy, and in that moment she made her decision based on that look alone. She couldn’t stand the triumph that would ensue if she were to accept the proposal, but she also couldn’t stand the endless berating that would ensue for the rest of her life if she were to reject it. 

“I am not finished here,” she said, calmly. This was a lie, and Valancy had never lied before in her life, but that paled in comparison with the absurdity that had already occurred, so she didn’t even feel guilty about it. “Please ask me again tomorrow, sir.” She still couldn’t remember what his name was. 

For one satisfying moment, he looked just as bewildered as Valancy felt, but then he tipped his hat and went away. 

  
  


There is no need to go into all the details of the siege that the Stirlings laid against Valancy in the following hours. Suffice it to say that she did her level best to ignore them, and they did their level best to make ignoring them an impossible task. But eventually, when the sky began to darken and their stomachs began to rumble for their dinners, she was able to send them away and crawl back into her bed, her own bed in a house she didn’t hate, for the last time. Abel wasn’t in the house. Valancy’s last thought before sleep was that she sincerely hoped he was getting drunk, and that it would be some help.

The next morning, she awoke very hungry, so she went downstairs, still in her nightdress, and helped herself first to a slice of venison pie and then to a slice of apple pie. By the time she’d finished the venison slice, she was no longer hungry, and by the time she’d finished the apple one, she was no longer confused. She also remembered the banker’s name, which helped. Beck. Mr. Beck, the widower with five children, presumably wanted a free housekeeper and nanny, and had heard good things about her domestic capabilities. Valancy had no experience with raising children, but she doubted that their company could be worse than that of Mother and Cousin Stickles, a thought which was confirmed by the appearance of Mother and Cousin Stickles. They pulled up to the house in a car driven by Uncle James, and Valancy went upstairs silently to put on one of her old dresses. Just this once, they were on the same side. 

The Beck house was not at all as Valancy had imagined. With the gold pocket watch and the banker’s reputation, she had thought the house would be soulless and imposing to match, but instead it was a homey-looking affair with an enormous garden out front. The garden had grown wild, but that could be fixed. The door had been painted white recently, and stood out fresh. Admittedly, it was too big a house even for five children and it was on the Port Lawrence road, but it didn’t have any pretensions about it. 

Valancy was surprised, and a little ashamed, to find herself thinking so proprietarily about the property, but thinking that way was a sight more fun than thinking proprietarily about the man himself. When Mr. Beck—Edward, he corrected her kindly—came out of the house and offered her his arm, she took it. She could see a few pale, snub-nosed faces pressing up against one of the big windows as they passed it, but Edward was talking, and she thought it would be rude to turn and look. So when they reached Lover’s Lane and he made his proposal, the one thing that stuck in her head was that she still didn’t know what her stepchildren looked like. If Edward had attempted to convince her that he was in love, she might not have been able to take it, but he was honest and simple in his choice of words. Valancy accepted.

As Edward drove her back to Abel’s house to pick up her things, their conversation was stilted but not painful. He had hoped to be promoted, but his housekeeper was not very good, and his children had lately demanded so much of his time that he had not been able to work as hard as he ought. Valancy tried to match him in the conversation, but she had no aspirations of her own and no children to speak of. By the time they made it to Abel’s house, Valancy was glad to find the front door unlocked and a familiar bearded figure hunched over a half-empty pie tin on the kitchen table. This was going to be the one guaranteed fun part of the whole engagement.

But when she flashed the diamond on her finger at him, he didn’t roar with laughter and surprise the way she expected. Instead, he frowned. Even worse, he pushed away the pie tin. 

“What’s that?” he growled. “Family heirloom?”

“You’re supposed to congratulate me,” said Valancy.

“I’ll do nothing of the sort.” Abel stared fiercely over her shoulder at Edward. “You’ve got some nerve.”

Valancy cut in. “I thought you liked nerve.”

Abel ignored that. “Her friend died, and then she found out her heart was all right, and then all her clan came and pounced on her like a pack of vultures. Now you’re rushing her to the altar.”

“He’s not rushing me,” said Valancy indignantly. 

“No?” said Abel. “Then where are you off to?”

“To get a marriage certificate,” said Valancy. “But he’s not rushing me, I’m rushing myself.”

“You’re running scared,” said Abel flatly. 

That hurt, because it was true. John Foster’s words came into her head, unbidden and unwanted: _Almost all the evil in the world has its origin in the fact that some one is afraid of something._ For the first time in a long time, Valancy felt ashamed. Then she noticed that Abel was nearly sober, and felt even worse; clearly, he had held off that morning in order to say goodbye to her, and it was maybe the nicest thing anyone had ever done for her. Anyone who wasn’t Barney. Oh, dear. She hadn’t intended to think of Barney; she was sure he would share Abel’s opinion. 

But John Foster, Barney, Abel: these were all men. Barney and Abel were poor, but free to live on their own. John Foster did not have to live with his mother, or grovel before a host of relatives all competing to play Torquemada; John Foster had a lovely life that let him ramble about the wilderness, and probably a pretty penny from book sales besides. What did he know about it? What did any of them know about it? Valancy asked herself fiercely.

 _It is horrible to live with fear; and it is of all things degrading_ , the book said back, and Valancy _knew_ that was true. She could feel it.

“I need to get my things,” Valancy said, and fled.

It took her all of ten minutes—she didn’t own much—and then Edward was lifting her things into the backseat of his car.

Valancy had braced herself for an argument, but Abel just looked sad and knowing. 

“Cissy wouldn’t like this,” he said.

Oh, bringing _her_ into this! Valancy focused on her indignity, rather than the truth of the matter. “Cissy would want me to be happy,” she said, with a touch of asperity. 

“Exactly.”

Edward was in the driver's seat of the car already. "Are you ready to go, Valancy?" he called. It gave Valancy an unpleasant sort of feeling to be called by her first name by a man she didn't know, even if he was polite and a few days away from being her husband.

Abel seemed to catch that look. "I don't think she is," he called back.

The spirit of spite rose up in Valancy. "I can speak for myself, thank you," she said.

"So you can. But." Abel cleared his throat in an official-sounding way that made Valancy very nervous, and then proceeded to almost shout. "As a sovereign citizen of Canada, entitled by birth to a citizen's protections and rights and with my foot on Canadian soil, I hereby declare, and promise to abide by, my intention to duel—what's the man's name again?"

Valancy covered her face with her hands as the strangest day of her life proceeded towards a fever pitch of strangeness.

"Edward Beck," Edward said from the driver's seat. He hadn't budged. "Sir, I realize that I'm perhaps depriving you of a very good housekeeper, and you're grieving the death of your daughter, but have you considered—"

"—my intention to duel Edward Beck, Esquire, with what weapons are at hand, until either I or he has been given satisfaction in the matter of an engagement to Miss Valancy Stirling, may the Lord grant me mercy." 

"I..." There were so many things Valancy could say to that, she couldn't even start. "How did you have that memorized?"

"It's how I married Cecily's mother," said Abel. And then, to Edward, "Do you yield?"

Edward looked from Valancy to Abel, and then back again. He looked stormy 

"Proposal duels are illegal," he said.

"Maybe in Toronto," said Abel. "Maybe in Montreal."

"But if you were to kill me, it would still count as murder. That ruling happened decades ago."

"Well, yes," said Abel, "but there's no weapons at hand and all it takes is a knockout." He grinned. "I figure I still have a decent right hook."

"You can't be serious," Valancy said.

"You can refuse me as soon as he yields," said Abel cheerfully.

"But then he can't propose to me again for six months!" 

"That _is_ the idea."

They were interrupted by the sound of the car starting up. Edward didn't even look back as he drove away, which Valancy felt was really quite rude. Still, a sense of relief came with it, before she remembered she'd have to go back to live with her mother now. 

"Oh, come," said Abel. "If you really want him, you can still have him, you'll just have to cool your heels a little. Anyways, he doesn't seem like he has a sense of humor."

Abel was right at that; it had struck Valancy, earlier, that even God would laugh at the idea of a joint duel-proposal from Roaring Abel, but Edward had only scowled. And, rather than consulting her on what she wanted, he'd fled. She knew better than to expect a man to fight for her—that was the stuff of centuries past, and fair maidens—but it would've been nice if he had said "so long" before he went. Imagine having to live with that temper for the rest of her life! But she wouldn't say thank you to Abel. He still needed snubbing.

"I'm eating the rest of your pie," Valancy said mulishly. 

"Have at it," said Abel. "And don't worry, there will be other men. Take your time."

There would be _other men?_ Take her time? Valancy shook her head and went inside before she got into a duel with him herself.

Abel got merrily drunk around noon out in the garden with some last secret stash of bottles, then fell asleep sitting among Cecily’s overgrown flowers with his back leaning on an old maple. Valancy, for her part, stayed upstairs and read Cecily’s old Bible. Not out of penitence—she was lower on that than she had ever been—but because she knew she must face the music soon enough and she wanted to get her mind off of it. She had found as a child that the Bible could be enormously entertaining, bloody in places and downright mystical in others, but that day it held absolutely no charms for her. Not even the drama of Second Chronicles could make her mind budge from its imaginings of everything each of her family members would have to say about the whole incident. 

She wondered if they would end up trying to make her marry Roaring Abel. Wasn’t a disreputably married woman worse than a single one? But, no, their pride couldn’t take it. She wondered if Edward—Mr. Beck, again—would drop off her things at her mother’s house, or whether she would have to make the humiliating walk to go pick them up. Or worse, a drive, with Uncle James. The thought made her cringe.

But when a car finally pulled in and parked by Roaring Abel’s house, it was by the sound of it unmistakably Lady Jane Grey. Valancy all but ran down the stairs. She hadn’t known it until he arrived, but Barney was exactly the person she wanted to see most in the world at that moment.

Barney was surprised to see her, but he seemed pleased by it, too. “Hello, Valancy,” he said, trying to smooth down a cowlick of his own ruddy hair that just wouldn’t stay down. “What happened to Abel’s cousin? Are you staying on?”

“The cousin’s still coming, and I still have to go back to Mother’s,” said Valancy. “But you won’t believe what almost happened.”

“What’s that?”

Valancy let the pause stretch for a second, enjoying how she’d captured his interest, and then said, “I almost got married.”

“Oh, for crying out loud, Valancy,” Barney said sourly, “I would have thought you had more sense than that.”

“You don’t even know who the man was!” Valancy protested, astonished.

“He proposed about six seconds after you were out of a job, no courtship, no nothing.” Barney was scowling now in earnest. “That’s no way to treat a woman.”

“He’s a banker,” said Valancy, and immediately felt a pang of embarrassment at how like her own mother she sounded.

Barney groaned. 

“It’s not happening, anyway." What Valancy really wanted to say was, _you have no idea what it’s like to never be wanted, do you,_ but that was an appeal to pity and she couldn’t bear to be pitied by Barney Snaith, of all people.

“Well,” said Barney after a second, “you’d better tell me about the whole thing.”

They settled down together on the front step of Abel's porch. Barney still looked ill-tempered throughout most of the story, but he did have a big laugh over Abel's proposal. "You'll have to ask him how he got married sometime," he said. "I would tell you, but I couldn't do it justice."

"I'm amazed he still remembers it word for word," said Valancy."

"He was very much in love with her."

"I imagine he'd have to be, if he was going to get into a fight over her."

"Yes." Barney had plucked a few pieces of tall grass and was busily employed in plaiting them. "Men in love are pretty foolish creatures."

"Oh, do tell." Valancy put her elbow on her knee, and her chin in her hand, striking up a pose of great attentiveness.

Barney looked up. "What?"

"There's a story there."

"The usual nonsense." Abruptly, and with no effort at a segue, Barney said, "Have you ever seen a proposal duel before?"

Valancy resisted the urge to roll her eyes. "In a way. Olive had a couple of duels fought over her, but they were really opportunities for boys from the university fencing club to show off their skills. I mean, it is far more sensible for nobody to get hurt, but none of them were going to marry her anyways." A funny moment popped into her head. "I remember that one of them actually had to follow through on his victory and propose, and while he was down on one knee, Olive took a second to think about her answer. I knew she was never going to marry him, but he looked like he was sweating bullets over it!" They both laughed. "What about you? Have you ever seen a proposal duel?"

"Oh, lots," said Barney. And of course he had; he'd traveled all over the country, all over the world even. Valancy was so envious.

"What's the strangest one you've ever seen?" she said.

Barney chuckled. "I guess that would have to be one out in the Yukon. Women were pretty scarce, but there was a lovely lady, Miriam Wilmore, whose husband died of pneumonia over the winter. This was back when the legal mourning period was a year."

"I think it's ridiculous to have a legal mourning period," said Valancy.

"I do too, but maybe it helps keep pests away from widows."

"Maybe, but you don't see men having to wear black for a year straight, and all the rest of it."

"You're not wrong," said Barney.

This was something that Valancy liked about Barney. Other than his inveterate hatred of John Foster, he was a rather reasonable man. "So what happened to Miriam Wilmore after a year?" she said.

"Well." Barney had finished his grass plait and now continued his story while tying the grass into a little bracelet round Valancy's wrist. "On the exact day that the legal mourning period ended, a man came to propose. Abner something? I forget the last name. Anyway, she said yes, but within the hour there was another man over, Little Willie Shaw. He and I were friends, so I was going to be a witness at the wedding, and he brought me along for emotional support just to find out that she was already engaged. So then it was Abner versus Little Willie. Out there, the local custom in proposal duels was more like wrestling; you have to get your opponent's belt off, and you're not allowed to cut it off, so it's usually about pinning him down and removing his belt. Unless you're no good at wrestling, in which case you have to knock him unconscious. Little Willie was pretty good, so he had some bruises by the end of it, but he won just by wrestling, and the former Mrs. Wilmore said yes."

"Good for him."

"Unfortunately, no. I thought that was as exciting as it was going to get, but then Duncan McGraw showed up. Duncan was six foot and ten years younger, and poor Little Willie was so exhausted from the first bout that Duncan just played rope-a-dope with him for about ten minutes until he was all puffed up, and then Duncan hit him pretty hard, sat on him, and took his belt."

"Three men in one day!" said Valancy. "What a life."

"Well, you've had two in a day," Barney pointed out.

Valancy scrunched up her nose. "Edward and Abel? It's not the same. Only one of them wanted to marry me."

Barney shrugged.

"Which did she end up choosing, Little Willie or McGraw?"

"McGraw," Barney said. "I guess she didn't want to be single and she preferred men who win."

"Most women prefer men who win."

"I mean, as a distinguishing quality over anything else."

Valancy shrugged. "It's fair enough." A thought occurred to her, and she grinned. She'd better get all her most impish thoughts out now, while she had Barney to tell them to; he couldn't come round Mother's, probably. And, oh. This was probably the last time she was going to talk to him properly for a long time, wasn't it.

"What?" said Barney.

"I was just thinking how different it would all be if women did proposal duels," she said.

"Hattie Wallis would be delaying weddings left and right," said Barney. Hattie was quite close to six feet tall, and after a painful period during her youth in which she always looked faintly apologetic, she had gotten over it and become a cheerful waitress in the city. Hattie had been a few years older than Valancy in school, so they hadn't been friends, but Valancy had always liked her.

"Good for her, too," said Valancy decidedly.

"Why?" said Barney. "Surely you'd frown on the violence?"

"It wouldn't do me any good, because I'm so little, but it would be nice for some women to have some kind of an option, instead of just waiting around forever," said Valancy decidedly. "Even if you lost, at least you tried. And if women did proposal duels, duels would be outlawed pretty quickly, or at least reduced to the more reasonable kinds like fencing, or shows of marksmanship, or slap chess, or—I don't know, pie-baking."

"You'd be the one stealing Olive's man then," Barney said with a grin.

"Oh, she can have him," said Valancy, but secretly she was pleased. It was true, after all. She could bake.

"Who would you have, then?" asked Barney.

Before Valancy could reply, there was, unmistakably, the sound of a car coming in. No, two cars. No, three cars. No—

"Oh dear," said Valancy.

The cars carried a terror of uncles, a catastrophe of aunts, and an overall misery of relatives, except for one car, which carried a pinch-faced man that Valancy knew as the lawyer Mr. Pickering, and another car which carried Edward Beck and a young man who, by the shape of his face, had to be one of Edward's relatives. Valancy knew that she would be dragged back to Mother's, and she had even anticipated some legal wrangling over the proposal duel, but this? These many people watching? She wanted the earth to swallow her up.

"What a circus," said Barney cheerfully.

He was right, actually. There was quite a stretch of mud—Abel's drive was held together by about a handful of gravel and a few spots of turf—and everyone spilling out of the cars was working very hard to try and not step in the worst puddles. It's hard to stare at the ground, picking up your feet gingerly and grimacing, while also looking serious and threatening. Valancy felt a little bit better.

"Where's Abel?" called Uncle James. It was almost a yell, and he was frowning ferociously, as if he had been the one affronted and not Edward.

"Having a nap," said Valancy, and pointed. Amazingly, the cavalcade of cars hadn't disturbed Abel in the least, and he was still snoring gently with his back to the maple tree.

Uncle James, Edward Beck, the lawyer, and the young man all picked their way over to Abel. Actually the young man didn't seem to mind the mud on his shoes at all, which was refreshing to see.

In the meantime, a nightmare of relatives swarmed up to Valancy and Barney on the porch. Mother in particular looked aghast to see her sitting there with Barney, but chose to save her reprimands about that for later and instead focus on the affair at hand. "Don't you worry, dear," she said, pat-patting Valancy's shoulder like Valancy was eleven. "We'll soon have this sorted."

"Imagine if they can't!" said Cousin Olive, in a tone which was supposed to convey dismay and sympathy, but which really conveyed nothing of the kind.

"I doubt the banker will wait six months and ask again," said Barney. He seemed pleased to say the most unhelpful thing available, and Valancy secretly enjoyed it. "Not with a banker-sized ego, anyways."

Cousin Olive pretended that he didn't exist; Mother glared. Barney's smile widened. "Tobacco?" he said politely. He generally didn't smoke with Valancy, because he knew she disliked it. Valancy tried not to smile.

"No, thank you," said Mother, with put-upon firmness.

"Here," said Barney, getting up from the step suddenly. "Mind how you treat him!"

Uncle James was shaking Abel by the shoulders none too gently, while Abel, eyes still closed, was grumbling. "I am doing my best," Uncle James said with extreme dignity, "but the man is _drunk_."

"Oh, easy enough." Barney went down the steps, put his face in close, and shouted, "Abel! You have guests!"

"Not near enough bacon," said Abel, rubbing his eyes and blinking blearily up at the men around him. "And why?"

"Hurry up before he falls back asleep," hissed Uncle James.

Edward proceeded to stumble through the requisite speech, sometimes changing the words as prompted by Mr. Pickering the lawyer. "As a sovereign citizen of Canada, entitled by birth to a citizen's protections and rights and with my foot on Canadian soil, I hereby declare my int—I hereby declare, and promise to abide by, my intention to duel Abel Gray, with what weapons—really? My intention to duel Abel Gray, _Esquire,_ with what weapons are at hand, until either I or he has been given satisfaction in the matter of an engagement to Miss..."

And there was a horrible, horrible pause into which Uncle James whispered, "Valancy."

"Valancy Stirling, may the Lord grant me mercy," said Edward, in a rush. Abel's head was nodding, and he looked as if he'd be asleep again at any moment. "And also, under the—" Again the lawyer whispered. "Under the Mercy Act, I appoint my cousin George Beck as my second, to duel in my place given that—given an injury I have already sustained which precludes me from legal combat."

"And what injury is that?" said Barney.

Edward glared. "I have back problems," he said.

"You're walking just fine."

"Wait one moment." The lawyer was rifling around in his bag, and at last produced a sheet of paper, which Barney read.

"What did the doctor say when you explained to him why you needed this letter?" Barney asked.

"I didn't," said Edward, sharply. "Now, then."

"Did you get all that, Abel?" Barney shouted.

"Hm?" Abel opened his wide again, with the expression of a disgruntled puppy, all wrinkled nose. "What's that?"

"Do you understand what's happening?" said Barney patiently.

Abel yawned, widely and at length, in everybody's face. Then he said, in a sleepy voice, "Banker wants Valancy, got young one to fight me, can't. Very, very. Stupid. Now you be my second and let me finish this nap." He patted Barney's arm and closed his eyes again.

There was a moment of dead silence. Everyone stared at Barney, and Barney himself seemed to be the most stunned of all.

"Well, he clearly understood that he had been challenged," said Mr. Pickering. "But he didn't use the proper language to declare Mr. Snaith as his second."

"He doesn't need official language," said Barney. "As in the duel offered by the company manager of whatever-it-was versus the Duke of York over that opera singer, it's been ruled before that exact wording is not important as long as it is clear what the speaker's intention is." And then, into the silence: "I read the papers on occasion, believe it or not."

"I'm not sure that the intention _is_ clear," said Mr. Pickering, primming his mouth up so that he looked more pinch-faced than ever.

"You yourself were the one who said that 'he didn't use the proper language to declare Mr. Snaith as his second.'"

Mr. Pickering raised an eyebrow, trying to look knowing and sardonic. "I wasn't aware you were a lawyer."

"I may not have a law office," said Barney shortly, "but I find my common sense usually takes me as far as I need to go."

They glared at each other.

"It's all right," said Uncle James, clapping Mr. Pickering on the shoulder comfortingly. "If Snaith is his second, then he can forfeit on his behalf."

"Sure," said Barney. "Without all the frills, I can say with absolute confidence that Mr. Abel Gray forfeits his claim to a proposal in the matter of Valancy Stirling. On the other hand, I can also say—" and here he looked at Edward— "you're on."

There was more legal wrangling after that, but Valancy didn't hear any of it, because as soon as Barney said, _you're on,_ Olive gave a great gasp and made as if to faint. Valancy grabbed her by the arm so she wouldn't hit her head—she wasn't _that_ spiteful—but really, trust Olive to take a duel over Valancy's hand and turn it into a health crisis over herself! Her cheeks weren't even pale, and Valancy highly suspected that it hadn't been much of a natural faint. At least First Cousin Gladys was there, with a bottle of smelling-salts, to half-poison Olive with a great whiff of it and then spend five minutes explaining how much it had helped her neuritis. By the time the women on the steps were back to rights, the men seemed to have moved on from arguing about whether or not Barney's challenge was legal, and instead started arguing about whether or not it was practical.

"You may as well forfeit, because you can't hope to win," put in Uncle Wellington. For his troubles, he earned himself a glare from Uncle James, who seemed very intent on being the sole spokesperson for the Stirling clan.

"Noted," said Barney.

"And!" Uncle James said. "You may as well forfeit, because _what will you do if you win?"_

Valancy was still feeling an enormous sense of incredulousness about this whole ridiculous affair, but that one managed to sting.

"What will I do if I win?" said Barney calmly. "Marry her, I hope."

That stung even harder. Enough was enough. Valancy stood up. "Barney?" she called. "Can you come into the house a moment? I need to talk to you."

"Yes, do, Valancy," said Mother fervently, and Valancy couldn't help but note that this was probably the first time Mother had approved of her actions in decades, if ever.

Inside, Barney wouldn't look at her, which wasn't at all like him.

"Do you have a plan?" Valancy finally said.

"The plan is to win." Barney shrugged defensively. "The Becks are a good family, and university boys from good families aren't any good at fighting unless they've trained for it, or unless they had exceptionally unhappy childhoods."

"Maybe he's trained for it. Maybe he had a terrible childhood."

"Maybe." He stared at the floor for a few seconds longer, then peeked up at her. "I don't expect you to accept, you know. But I would—I mean—" He struggled. "Valancy, do you love him?"

"No, of course not." What a thing to ask! "I don't even like him, but that's not the point."

"So...if you could go somewhere else, a third place, would you do it? Not Beck's house, not your mother's."

For the first time, Valancy actually believed he might mean to marry her. "Barney Snaith," she said. "You _can't_ propose to me out of pity. You just can't. It would be too mean. And I thought you, of all people, would be intelligent enough to know that."

"It wouldn't be pity!" protested Barney. "I'm—I know you don't—I wouldn't ask you to pretend to like me, but—"

Valancy interrupted. "You know I do."

"Not like—I mean, I wouldn't ask you to pretend you like me as if we had married for love." He looked her dead in the eye with a pained expression, as if he was desperate to make her understand. "But I have a house, on an island, and Valancy, you would love the full moon over the water. I could show you so many things, I..."

Valancy's heart was beating hard. How many times had she wanted a proposal? And now that she had one, a real one, it was dreadful. "I can't," she said.

His mouth twitched, and he looked down again. "All right, then."

"I would rather stay friends, and always be honest, and not wonder if it's—"

"Yes," he said quickly. "That makes sense."

There was a long moment of silence in the little kitchen before Valancy finally said, tentatively, "Will you forfeit?"

"I'm thinking." His lips were pressed together into a flat line. The cowlick in his hair wouldn't stay down. "What if you got a little house in the country? You would probably have to deal with cousins as guests, but Cousin Georgiana wouldn't be so bad."

"Get a little house in the country? I might as well get a Spanish castle."

His shoulders hunched. "Don't take this the wrong way, but I have a little money stowed away."

"Barney Snaith, what makes you think I'm a charity case?"

His chin snapped up, and he stared at her hard. "Valancy Stirling, what makes you think that pity is the _only_ reason why anybody would want to do you good?"

"Twenty-nine years of being alive on this Earth," she said. Tears were pricking at the corners of her eyes, but she refused to let them go. "Every second of them. And common sense to boot. If it's not pity, Barney, then what is it?"

Barney gave her a long look. The silence was torturous. And then, to her everlasting embarrassment, Valancy began to cry.

Without another word, Barney turned and walked out of the house.

Outside, the silence was expectant.

"Well?" said Mr. Pickering.

"Valancy doesn't approve," said Barney. "But I'm on."

"My cousin is a boxer, you know," put in Edward, who was beginning to look a little anxious.

Barney began unbuttoning his shirt. "Georgie goes to Queen's. He's no more a boxer for doing a few rounds than I am a fisherman for catching a few river trout."

"I'm the co-captain of the club there," said George Beck, and for a moment both Barney and Edward were united in giving George quite a look.

"Good for you," said Barney. He shrugged his shirt off his shoulders and draped it over a branch of the maple tree. The sight of his bare shoulders reminded Valancy of the time when, walking along, she had seen him in nothing but overalls, working on Lady Jane Gray, and how later she had admitted to herself that he looked like he was capable of murder. For one wild second, she thought: what if he does kill Georgie Beck in front of God and Cousin Stickles and then I have to go visit him in prison? She had never visited anybody in prison and she thought it would be very disagreeable. Then she got ahold of herself. Mother was saying something to her.

"I wish you hadn't encouraged him," she was saying.

"I assure you, I didn't."

"If he hasn't any hope, then what is he doing, then?"

"Being stubborn," said Valancy, and then she fell silent. She knew he was being stubborn about something, but she wasn't sure what. And anyways she would never discuss Barney with her mother; that was entirely out of the question. The two people didn't seem to belong in the same country, and things were bizarre enough already.

And the fight began.

Going by Barney's evaluation, either Georgie Beck had trained very well, or he had had an absolutely Dickensian childhood. He began with a hard left hook, which Barney managed to duck, but then followed up with a jab of his right fist that send Barney's head back with a crack. Barney's nose began to bleed.

Valancy had anticipated that it would be an ugly business, but she hadn't known until the second that Barney's head snapped back that it would be the most horrible thing she'd seen in her life. The two men circled, Barney shaking his head a little as if to clear it, and all around her, her relatives were exhorting and cheering as if they were at a horse race, but Valancy was dead silent, wishing that it could all be over, that it was not real, that one or both of the men would be spirited away into the sky. She didn't want to see Barney suffer.

And he was suffering, there was no doubt of it. Georgie was a cautious fighter, and for a while he only got in a few hits when he could, and spent the rest of the time bouncing around, bobbing and weaving. As grimly persistent as he was, Barney was no match against a trained opponent. He got in one good hit to Georgie's ribs, and a couple that glanced off his head, his shoulder. But then Georgie seemed to come to grips with Barney's capabilities, and at that point he started landing combinations of blows that made awful sounds when they landed. It was a slaughter. It felt like it was lasting hours. Abel woke up properly at this point and started shouting encouragement, something about using your head and not fighting like a boxer and what was this, a waltz, why didn't he give him a kick, why didn't he give him the elbow, and then Georgie landed one solid punch with all his weight behind it and Barney went down.

"One," said Mr. Pickering.

"Stay down," Valancy said urgently. She said it under her breath, and then, hearing herself, shouted it: "Stay down!"

"Two."

She couldn't see him properly with the crowd of relatives encircling the fight. Running down the steps, she elbowed Aunt Wellington out of the way and stopped abruptly. Barney was at her feet. He didn't seem dazed at all. 

"Three."

He was blinking hard. His left eye was swelling up as if it had been stung by a bee, and blood ran from his nose all down his chin, his neck, his undershirt. But he was looking up at her with absolute clarity.

"Four."

"I've come this far," he said recklessly. He began to sit up.

"Five."

"If you go any farther, know it's not for me," Valancy said, with a depth of conviction she hadn't even known she possessed. "It's for you. And I'll never speak to you again." Her heart was hammering away at her chest and her palms were sweating, but she was as fierce now as if she was making up for the rest of her meek, cowed little life. "Never," she said.

"Six."

Holding her stare, Barney stopped blinking. His left eye had almost swollen shut, and the bruises had given his face an almost inhuman quality, but his left eye was still the same, grey and level with a spark of defiance lingering on.

"Seven."

Valancy had said all she could say, short of begging. She had to bite her lip to keep from doing that.

"Eight."

"You want me to forfeit?" said Barney.

"Yes," said Valancy.

"Nine."

Barney gave her one last look, then deliberately laid back down. At the exact moment that his head hit the mud, Mr. Pickering said, "Ten."

The clearing exploded into cheers; Aunt Wellington grabbed Valancy's arm and gabbled excited congratulations into her ear. Barney closed his eyes.

The congratulations seemed to take forever, and Valancy was thoroughly sick of it all. Barney, at least, had gotten up and seemed all right, not dizzy or stunned, and he shook hands with Georgie Beck as good-naturedly as he could manage. But after practically all her other uncles had shaken hands with both Georgie and Edward (who hadn’t done anything!) she could feel the atmosphere beginning to change, to calm a little, and soon enough a few people were looking in her direction. Edward included.

Valancy panicked. Leaning over, she hissed in her mother’s ear, “I didn’t want any of this fuss and I didn’t want anyone to get hurt. If Edward proposes to me right here, right now, I am _going_ to refuse him.” 

Her mother took one startled look, saw that Valancy was severely upset, and all but ran over to Uncle James. Valancy could see the two of them conferring, Uncle James glancing over now and again, and she knew he was calculating the chances that he could bully Valancy into accepting at once. She cut her eyes at him. At that moment, with everybody celebrating and herself feeling anything but celebratory, she harbored a healthy dose of spite towards him that transcended even her usual resentment. 

That decided him. In the next ten minutes, Uncle James managed to herd the whole pack of them back into the cars with some grand pronouncement about a family dinner that implied there would be some of his very good claret available in significant quantities.

Left behind was a lot of churned-up mud, Abel snoring, and Valancy and Barney unable to look at each other. 

“Can I help you clean up?” she said tentatively, after a minute.

“No, thank you,” Barney said shortly. “I’ll do it.”

As he passed her on the way to the house, Valancy’s cheeks burned. Barney had never been truly angry with her before, and she hated it. She felt guilty, too, for how much he must be hurting, and the two emotions tangled uncomfortably in her head.

So she did what she always did when she was unsettled and at Abel’s house: she did some housework. Barney had shut himself in the bathroom to clean up, so first Valancy tugged at Abel, made him drink some water, and helped him get upstairs with her shoulder under his arm. When she tucked him into bed, he said something about Cecily, but she couldn’t make it out. Once he was asleep again, she headed downstairs, opened up a can of beans, and set about making a soup for dinner. 

No matter how busy her hands were, her mind couldn’t be budged from Barney. It didn’t help that he came back downstairs, silently, with his clean shirt on and his face bruised and wet, and went outside ot sit and smoke in the garden. He was facing away from the house, but she could see the outline of him, and the smoke. After the clamor of the fight, the house felt dead silent, and Valancy’s sense of unease only grew. When the soup was done, there was nothing else to do but face him. 

Barney was sitting on the fallen log that served as a bench, and Valancy still didn’t care for the smell of tobacco, but she sat next to him because she felt she ought to have it out. The mix of anger and guilt was cresting inside her—the more angry she felt, the guiltier she felt, and the guiltier she felt, the angrier she felt.

“You shouldn’t have done that,” she said.

In the silence that followed, she was shocked at herself. Saying saucy things to the Stirlings was all well and good—they had tormented her for her whole life and they made it all too easy. But telling off Barney, who had traveled the world and who had an actual sense of humor and who knew about life and who had fought for her—that was different. But she had felt it, when she said it. The horrorshow of bruises wouldn’t have happened if he had just let it go.

Barney exhaled a long plume of smoke before he answered. Finally he said, “I know.”

Valancy didn’t know how to reply to that. He seemed to mean it.

And then he looked over at her, an unusually grave look in his grey eyes. “You shouldn’t marry him, all the same.”

Now it was Valancy’s turn to sigh and say, “I know.”

Barney set aside his pipe and picked up his bowl, and the two of them finished their dinner in silence, as some kind of truce settled over the two of them. Valancy wanted to apologize, then, for not stopping it all sooner, for not finding a way. As mule-headed and Stirlingish as everybody there had been behaving, she had to admit to herself that she had enjoyed—before the fight, and just a little bit—the way that her relatives for once seemed to care about her future, the way that her decisions mattered, the way that people seemed to be willing to fight over her. But looking back, it had been egos all the way down, hers included. Barney at least had good intentions.

“Can you drive me back to my mother’s tomorrow?” she said.

“Of course. I couldn’t miss my last chance to see you, could I.” He smiled bitterly. “Somehow, I doubt Edward Beck will allow his wife to hang around with that scoundrel Barney Snaith.”

“I’m not going to marry him,” said Valancy. And then, before he had a chance to judge her, she rushed on: “It’s not that I’m fickle, it’s that I know him better now. From start to finish, once he was challenged, it was all about the challenge and he didn’t even pretend to be interested in what I thought. And the gloating, and—” How could she describe the fierceness she felt when she saw him bleeding? She’d thought that kind of single-mindedness, that freedom from worrying about what her relatives would do, was only available to her if she was dying, but it wasn’t. It was still there. Less gleeful than before, but just as strong.

“I think I can handle Mother and the rest better than I did before,” she said, “and I’d rather have them than a husband I don’t like any day of the week.”

Now Barney was staring at her openly, and finally Valancy couldn’t stand it anymore. Even if he was looking at her with disgust, she had to know what he was thinking. She turned and looked back at him. “What?”

Unexpectedly, Barney was smiling one of his crooked smiles with no trace of bitterness in it. “You’ve changed,” he said.

“I only hope it’s for the better,” said Valancy, trying not to grin wide in her relief. 

“It is,” said Barney. “Very much.”

They smiled at each other a moment, and then Valancy said, “I won’t let Mother keep me locked up, anyway. You can come see me whenever you like.”

“Expect me often, then,” said Barney.

Valancy woke up early the next morning so she could watch the sun rise over Cecily’s little garden. How sweet it was to simply be alone! And then, when Abel came downstairs and they had bread and butter and tea, how sweet it was to be in the company of somebody she liked. Valancy told Abel the basics of what had happened the day before, and Abel didn’t even talk because he was so hungover, or at least not until until breakfast was over and they were back outside, Valancy braiding herself a bracelet of tall grass the way Barney had, and Abel smoking contentedly.

“It’s your business who you marry,” he said, suddenly.

“Oh, _now_ you see that?” said Valancy, just to see Abel’s crooked teeth when he grinned. 

“I’m no saint, and I’m not sorry either,” he said. “This isn’t about that banker at all, it’s about Barney.”

“Oh.” Valancy focused very hard on tying the plaited grass into a knot. 

“I don’t know why most women take who they usually take,” said Abel, “but it’s usually to do with love or money. He’s no poorer than I am, and you were happy here with Cecily and me, weren’t you?”

“I was,” conceded Valancy. 

“So it’s not the money. But it can’t be love either, because Barney almost got himself knocked unconscious for you.”

“He didn’t want me to get married, that’s all,” said Valancy.

“He’s in love with you,” said Abel, “as anyone with half an eye can see. We don’t need to get into it, I know this ain’t my business, but I figure I can do some good here and I might as well, all right? If you keep your mouth open too long, a fly’s going to get in it.”

Valancy closed her mouth.

“Men talk when they’re drunk,” said Abel, “and so I know why Barney lives like he does, out here. I know there’s rumors, but I promise he’s not a murderer.”

“I know _that,”_ said Valancy.

“I don’t even think he’s ever broken the law,” said Abel, “except maybe for hopping trains without a ticket. He hasn’t stolen anything. They’re not going to cart him off to jail. And he’s not a violent man either. You could see that, in the fight. He was about as useful as a lace raincoat. _I_ would’ve done better, drunk and all. No, I know why he’s out here, and it’s sad, but it doesn’t say anything terrible about him. And that’s all I can say about it.”

“I never thought he was going to jail, or that he was going to hurt anybody,” said Valancy. This was not strictly true. She still felt pretty sure that Barney had counterfeited money at some point in his life, but would have died rather than admit to it, because she felt it would be an insult to him.

“Ah, sure,” said Abel indulgently. “I’m only saying, there’s worse men. And I haven’t seen anyone do something as stupid as challenge a boxer, not for a long time, which isn’t like Barney. He does love you to stupidity. I guess maybe he could do a little better in the facial department, but then, so could most people. You just think on it.” And here he patted Valancy’s hand in a most paternal manner. 

Valancy protested long and hard that she hadn’t ever harbored suspicions of Barney’s character, that she found him rather handsome actually, that money was no issue, and on and on. It wasn’t very good, and she knew it, because she couldn’t discuss the actual matter at hand. She couldn’t very well say, “He isn’t in love with me at all, he’s just a kind man who doesn’t want to see me married forever to a rich idiot.” The idea of debating the concept of love and how to tell if someone was in love with Roaring Abel, of all people, was just too much for her. Not to mention the matter of her own inability to attract a man. Abel still labored under the delusion that Valancy was one of the most delightful women he had ever met, on account of both Cecily and the pies.

At the end of it all, Abel only said, “Well, now, I just think the two of you would be happy,” and patted her hand again, and left to do the dishes. 

The problem was, when he put it like that, Valancy didn’t have any explanations left, either ones she could say or ones she couldn’t say out loud. But the idea of it frightened her.

And here, again, came John Foster…

After a while, Valancy heaved a sigh and went inside to look for paper and a pen.

The ride down into town was good-natured, if a bit strained. Barney was talkative, clearly trying to prove that he was ready to stay good friends despite the hubbub of all that had happened, and Valancy was happy to let him do most of the talking. When they got to Valancy’s house, she darted out of the car, shoved her letter in the mailbox, and all but ran back in. There was no sign of other Stirlings there, or any Becks, but she still felt like she might be caught any second.

When she shut the car door behind her, Barney gave her a quizzical look. 

Now that the letter was in the mailbox, Valancy could feel her courage deserting her. Suppose her plan didn’t work! Suppose Mother and Cousin Stickles read the letter and showed it to all their relatives! She would never live it down. The raspberry jam was one thing, but this letter would outlive her and be remembered in generations of Stirlings to follow, one way or another. 

“Could you please take me down the road a little further? I have an errand to run,” said Valancy, rather flatly. 

Much to her relief, Barney didn’t question her about what her errand was. He only said, “All right,” and they were off again. 

Once Valancy asked him to stop by Lover’s Lane, the jig was up, and Valancy had reached such a pitch of nervousness that there wasn’t any point in walking further. So she only walked with him a little ways into the forest, enough that they wouldn’t be seen by passerby, and then she said, “I’ve been thinking,” because of course she _had_ known the right words to say on the drive there...but then forgotten them during the walk. 

“All right,” said Barney, not at all patiently. He was nervous too, and somehow that made it easier. They couldn’t both be nervous at the same time; somebody had to know what was going on.

“And I came to the conclusion,” she said, trying to speak slowly so she didn’t rush it all out in a jumble like she knew she might, “that unless you’ve changed your mind in the last twenty-four hours, I would like to marry you.” 

Barney stared, incredulous—how could he be incredulous? Hadn’t she asked to walk with him down Lover’s Lane?—and then he threw back his head and laughed. 

It did hurt Valancy’s pride, a little, but she didn’t blame him. Anybody would laugh at this, unless, maybe if they were Edward Beck.

“Valancy,” he finally said, “you know I would marry you any day of the week, but I can’t propose to you again for another six months. I lost; those are the rules.”

“Oh, I know,” said Valancy, “but I’m the one proposing to you, this time.”

Barney grinned a while longer, brittlely, but it couldn’t last forever. He had to face up eventually. 

“Can I ask what precipitated your change of heart?” he said.

“It’s not—I’m not—” Valancy clasped her hands, as if that would help. “I am not going to pretend anything with you.”

“Good,” said Barney fiercely.

“I thought, earlier, you were just looking at me like a charity case, but I’ve thought about it, and Abel said some surprisingly wise things—”

“Like what?” demanded Barney.

“Nothing,” said Valancy, and then, realizing she had promised not to pretend with him, backpedaled. “He did say that he was sure you weren’t a criminal. He did say that he thought we would be happy together.” She did not bring up that Abel thought Barney was in love with her; it would be too embarrassing altogether when Barney had to correct Abel on that score. 

“Is that all,” said Barney. Under moving tree-shadows, his grey eyes looked as though they were flickering. 

“No, but that was most of it.” Valancy frankly had no idea what to make of where she was, what she was doing, or how she had come to such a point in her life, but she forged ahead. “I can keep house, but you probably don’t care about that. We can be silent together; I can leave you alone, or leave you alone when I want to. That’s what counts.”

“You’re not wrong there,” said Barney. “I don’t suppose I’ll ever find anyone else I can be quiet with for hours at a time, not even Abel.”

“And I won’t be a burden, because there will be an end to it,” said Valancy. “I’ll offer you a squirrel’s divorce every five years, and if you ever feel you’re getting tired of me, you can simply accept.”

Barney thought that one over for a good long time. “I can’t see you killing a creature,” he eventually said. 

Neither could Valancy, but needs must. “They have special-made traps in shops,” she said. Oh, God, was marriage going to be like this? So tense and uncomfortable, and all practical words on the surface? She wanted to squirm. 

“Can I ask why you’re so sure I’ll tire of you?” Barney said. 

“It’s not that, it’s…” Valancy showed him both letters from the doctor, the one that said she would likely die soon, and the other one which said it had all been a mistake. 

“This is why you took up with Abel and Cecily, isn’t it,” he said, rereading both letters carefully.

“Yes.” Valancy wanted to scream. Instead she said, in a voice she usually reserved for being polite to other people’s maiden aunts, “I felt free, when there was a known end. I thought maybe you would feel free, too, that way.”

“Well,” Barney handed back the papers. “I’ll marry you on whatever terms you want, Valancy, wherever you want and whenever you want, as long as we’re truthful with each other. As you said, I’m not going to pretend.”

“Good,” said Valancy, and she could hear the nervousness in her own voice, it was so palpable. Barney wasn’t done yet, she could feel it. A hammer was about to drop. 

“Good,” Barney echoed, and then it all came out: “So you should know before we get married that I had intended to ask you to marry me, before Edward Beck ever did. I mean, Valancy.” He bit his lips and smiled strangely. “I’m—I’m crazy about you. You can kill as many squirrels as you like, I want to spend the rest of my life with you, as long or short as it may be. And.” He shrugged his shoulders up, defensively. “I know you won’t feel the same way, but I can’t pretend every day when we’re together, so if that’s too uncomfortable, you just let me know.” 

“Barney, what are you trying to say?” 

He shoved his hands deep in the pockets of his overalls. “I love you, Valancy Stirling. I can’t help it. But If you don’t want to marry me on that account, I understand.”

Valancy stared at him for a long moment. Blue homespun shirt, nondescript hat, muddy overalls. Unshaved! Lips primmed up in an expression of uncertainty that sat strangely on his rough face. He meant it. He meant every word of it. This, too, would explain the duel far better than kindness ever would—what an idiot she had been to think that was mere pity from one friend to another! But her, he was in love with _her._ Of all people. She could have laughed. She could have cried.

“Barney,” she said, trying to speak gently, “of course I’m not in love with you—never thought of such a thing as being in love—with anybody real, at least. But, do you know, I’ve always thought you were a bit of a dear.”

Even under forest shadows, she could see him going red. And the one clear thought she had was that she didn’t want him to look like that anymore, half-pleased, half-ashamed. She just wanted him to be pleased all the way through, as she was, to find herself getting married. So she leaned forward, and put her arms round his neck, and kissed him.

That night, she awoke to the sound of the rain hammering at the windowpanes, Barney still asleep beside her. The house of her dreams was asleep itself, all the way down to Banjo snoring, as promised, by the fireplace—but Valancy was wide awake.

In her dream, she had her arms round Barney's neck again, and he had his hands on her waist, and this time, when she pulled away, instead of saying something about how long it would take to drive to the Port to get their marriage license, he said: _I love you, Valancy Stirling,_ and this time he said it with only pride, with only hope, with only joy. And her own heart beat so fast to those words that even now, awake, she could feel it. It didn't hurt, like one of her attacks, but oh, it felt—so strange, so urgent.

And her own words came floating back to her: _of course I'm not in love with you_ — _never thought of such a thing as being in love._

"Oh, dear," she said.


End file.
